English Breakfast
by candycobwebs
Summary: Sebastian ponders eternity with his newly demonized master.


_I wrote this a while ago, and I recently uncovered it while I was going through my old word documents. As you can see, I haven't posted any fanfiction in a long time. At the least, someone else will read this, and it won't take up space on my computer anymore. Unpublished fanfiction seems kind of pointless. Maybe posting will rekindle my fandom flame a bit. I can't promise whether this will be a one shot or a continued series, but for now I am labeling it as complete. Thanks for reading._

_~ Marie_

* * *

_English Breakfast _

There were moments (when a perfect glint flashed in his master's vermillion eyes or a snarl displayed a glistening line of little white incisors) that Sebastian had to reflect upon how fitted the child was for his debut as a monster. Even while human, there had been something in his gaze that hinted at a submerged darkness, more refined than that of the deadliest residents of Hell, but restricted by childish empathy. Now freed from these human weaknesses, he reigned in his demonic form with the frightening precision of the underworld's most ancient hellions. He would become, without a doubt, one of the most formidable devils Sebastian had ever encountered. But he had centuries to go before he shed his newborn ignorance; until then, dependence upon his eternal servant would be, though far less noticeably necessary than when his veins had pulsed with mortal blood, still an asset to his survival. Ironic, considering how fiercely Sebastian would have fought to end one such as him had their contract not bound him to his side.

Many hours were spent imagining, futilely, exactly how he would have expelled this ungodly creation. Daydreams only took flight while the devil child slept, or feigned sleep, as he had refused to accept that his kind did not require pampered rest. When those red irises closed, it was almost as if he was restored to his fragile boyhood. It was startling how small he was—in waking hours, his demonic essence endowed him with an imposing aura. While he slept, his power merely pulsed beneath a husk of white skin, plump cheeks, and petite limbs. Little wrists that looked like they could snap in half at any minute. Gangly knees. Dainty hands. In sleep, he could be mistaken for an angel.

_What a grave mistake that would be_, Sebastian thought as he towered over the resting monster. He smiled to himself. What a grave mistake it _had_been, for many, when the demon boy had settled on a prize he wanted.

In life, as in non-life, Ciel was accustomed to getting what he desired: pretty velvet coats, canes, pistols, cakes and sweets. The boy had a sweet tooth that could never be denied. There were days, before, when he had refused to eat any food that wasn't laced with sugar, despite Sebastian's fervent scolding. Over the years, the demon had served his master so many desserts that he began to wonder if his high sugar consumption would have any effect on the flavor of his soul. Perhaps there would be the taste of vanilla frosting and sugar-glazed strawberries dancing beneath the thick elixir of black-tainted innocence. Perhaps… no, he had lost his train of thought. Imagining the devil boy's destruction was his way of dulling the thirst, but his thoughts roamed and he ended up, like he always had, fantasizing about the phantom soul that was no longer his, like a lusting adolescent losing the fight against his own arousal.

He was now hovering unsettlingly close to the no longer edible half-child. His warm breath mussed raven locks. He fixated decidedly upon one strand of bluish black, refusing to glance upon the porcelain face below for fear that he would try to rip it off.

He was very hungry. When he thought of his master as he had been as a child, as a future meal, the feeling was beyond torture. Once, during a bleak conversation with a vampire, the bloodsucking creature had attempted to describe it.

"It is like a thirst," he had said moments before Sebastian had popped off his head like a boy playing with his sister's doll. "But it is more painful than that. Your pores, your eyes, your mouth—everything leaks with thirst until you think your skin will burn away, or your heart will explode, or your entire body will simply erupt in flames. But nothing happens. _That_ is the worst part. You feel the constant need to purge all of your blood and organs. You feel like your eyes and nose and ears should fall off and your skull should cave in. But nothing happens."

"Really? Well, I shall never know the feeling." _Pop._

If he had never known Ciel, if he had simply been a demon he'd collided with as he had with many demons before, he would have popped his head off in a similar fashion. He would have torn him in two like a paper doll. There would have been no hatred in the act—he simply couldn't have something like him preying about where Sebastian wished to hunt. He was too… beautiful. Soft breath blew gently at the boy's wayward locks. His eyes slipped to round, fair cheeks.

Yes, he would have ripped open his bodily shell and devoured his insides, the beautiful organs all shimmery and red, the—_stop, stop._

The child still slept. He slept as though he didn't know the homicidal need that wracked his servant's body, but this was a lie. He knew. Even if he hadn't known before, he knew after his "experiments."

_His cerulean eyes had flashed scarlet when he'd bent to retrieve the fragments of a no doubt intentionally dropped teacup._

_"No, master, allow me," Sebastian had said in warning, fully aware that his owner was up to something as he normally would have never condescended to dealing with his own trivial messes._

_"Oops." The boy had held up a hand that clutched a sharp shard. It was covered in blood._

_"Oops," he'd said again, smiling evilly. "I think I cut myself, Sebastian. Look."_

_And he had taken the shard and dragged it up his wrist, down the length of his arm, up to his elbow, until a red gash blossomed and demon blood spilled onto the floor. He'd gasped a little, evidence of newborn whose power was not yet hardened by centuries of consuming souls, but beneath the gasp there'd been a chuckle. He'd held up the leaking arm to Sebastian's mouth._

_They had toppled over the broken china, one little arm holding tight around the elder demon's neck as he licked blood and porcelain. Sebastian had felt sick. He had felt like vomiting up the insides that pulsed inside his fake body. But he couldn't. So he had sucked at the burst veins that tasted of sin and sweets and nothing nearly as satisfying as souls, smearing the disgusting liquid on his face and hair as he carelessly devoured his poor excuse for food. And Ciel had watched, fascinated, and he had rutted his little body against him until he was so close it made Sebastian want to explode. Sebastian had known that he was being tortured, and he had stopped himself before the beast beneath him was granted a deeper glimpse at the starvation that plagued his indestructible butler. Ciel had known this, and had sneered in disappointment. Sebastian had quickly covered that sneer with blood-smeared lips, forcing a reddened tongue against his pink until the medicinal taste had flooded his senses._

_"So that's what I taste like," he'd reflected with a serious, contemplative air once lips and tongue had parted. The air of a scientist gathering data after testing his hypothesis. _

_Sebastian wondered what new theories he'd concocted from his experiment._

_Then he'd said, with the unfathomable combination of arrogance, curiosity, and prudish debauchery that could only fall from his candied lips or flicker in his vivid eyes—"I wonder what your blood tastes like."_

And so it was: lace, blood, and empty teacups. For all eternity.

Teacups…

A glance at the grandfather clock in the corner told him he had ten minutes to prepare the imaginary breakfast before his expecting master awoke. He turned on his heel and set out to his task, all musings of murder and mastication carefully filed away, until he returned in what astonished witnesses would have described as "record time."

Maroon eyes popped open. Ciel rose like a reanimated corpse, greeting his faithful servant with irises that had returned to a jewel-like blue—a sapphire façade.

"Good morning, master." A hilarious lie, as twilight was yawning its way across the sky hidden behind the windows' heavy curtains.

There was the usual flurry of buttons and laces, of nightgowns discarded in exchange for pretty little aristocratic outfits, ribbons, and boots, all of which now took little concentration but still required precious time. Dressing the young Phantomhive was never a small affair. He could have, at any time, traded in his boyish wardrobe for clothes more befitting his maturity, but that would spoil his entire charade.

"You would make a lovely doll," a strange creature had once told him.

He had loathed it then, but now he knew the rewards of being a 'lovely doll', a pretty thing you would ache to see in a shoppe window. Ciel knew he was made of little more than velvet and button eyes now.

Sebastian knew as well. Pulling stockings up little calves and tying laces into elegant bows brought to mind the delicate pink and white flowers that had adorned the Phantomhive garden, so lovely and soft and wickedly deceptive. Oleanders had been Sebastian's decision, of course. No one would guess that a toxic plant could be so pleasant and refined.

"What is it today, Sebastian?"

"English Breakfast, my lord. It is a bit heartier than your preferred taste, but I thought the extra strength would serve you well today," he said, pouring invisible tea into a pristine teacup and offering it to equally pristine hands.

Ciel pretended to savor the non-existent drink, closing his eyes and inhaling as though he could detect the rich, earthly scent of black tea. It was a mutually understood ceremony. Sebastian never inquired why. In fact, he'd never asked for permission to continue serving him tea even when he no longer required human sustenance. He'd simply entered his room the morning after his metamorphosis, imaginary tea and translucent treats stacked upon a silver tray. No questions passed between them.

The Earth, Sebastian had come to realize, was largely stagnant. It hardly changed. There were surface differences over time, shifts in geography, fashion, architecture, politics, but the core of humanity remained the same. Before, he had viewed the static world from the outside, shaking his head piteously at those who remained stuck in an endless cycle while he wandered down below, free from human bonds, free from humility and regret.

It was not when the demon child first opened his hellfire eyes that he became frozen in time. It was when he accepted his breakfast afterwards. When he held the porcelain teacup with the same upper-class reserve as he had when he'd only been a vengeful boy, he stopped the clock-watch for all eternity.

"Shall I pour another cup, my lord?" he asked. "I daresay you finished that quite fast."

"No, I've had enough. I have work to do," said Ciel, floating off his bed to head for the study.

_Work._ Sebastian smiled. His master would have made a wonderful businessman, what with his penchant for needless paper-light labors.

"I would like something sweet later, though," the boy ordered without looking back. "I am rather hungry."


End file.
